


if you must mourn, don't do it alone.

by plethora



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plethora/pseuds/plethora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren manages to deal with Amy's death, manages to internalise it all, right up until the last minute. Simon tries to help pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you must mourn, don't do it alone.

The day of the funeral arrives too soon.

Simon doesn’t really know what morgeous means, but he digs a suit out anyway. It’s dark and plain, and Amy wouldn’t have liked that, but it’s the best he can do.

Besides, it’s not important. Kieren’s been flitting about like a trapped bird all morning and most of the night before. He’d felt him tossing and turning next to him, occasionally sniffling and clinging. Simon hadn’t even pretended to be asleep. Just held him and stroked his hair.

He doesn’t really know what to do when people cry. He remembers his mum crying when she got ill, and very stiffly putting his arm around her as she fell apart in the hospital waiting room.

(His dad had refused to go, for some reason. When his mum tried to bring up treatment, he always left the room. Even after she’d recovered, he never spoke of it.)

He can hardly put his arm round Kieren. Can’t hold him when he’s pacing and preening and breathing all funny and being oddly cheery.

So instead of doing anything useful, just sits on the edge of the bed and fiddles with the flowers Kieren had carefully threaded through his buttonhole.

(“They’ll probably be all wilted and dead by the time we get there. Appropriate really.” His hands were trembling.)

“I don’t know what to wear.” Kieren says now, breaking him out of his thoughts. His voice is even more stilted now. Nothing like after Amy died at the surgery. He’d barely spoken for two days after that - just slept, tucked up against Simon’s chest, all small and bony.

“She’d like pink – she _liked_ pink, but I don’t have anything pink. I’ve just got lilac and- what colour is this? What colour even is this?”

He’s holding up a shirt and flapping it around.

It looks like a washed out grey. Like someone put a white shirt in with a black load.

Again, Amy probably wouldn’t have liked it.

“I don’t know. I think it’s a bit dull for her, though.”

Kieren nods like it was the right answer, and chucks it on the pile of discarded clothes. They’re going to get all crumpled on the floor.

Simon thinks he looks thin, which is stupid. He’s not gained or lost weight since the day he rose, and he won’t in the future. His ribs will always poke out. It’s probably just the way his shoulders are slumped forward. He looks smaller.

He’s still whipping himself up into a panic about the shirts.

“I haven’t got one she’d like. They’re all shit – they’re all so fucking shit-“

Simon gets up and just sort-of grabs him, more to stop him flailing about than anything. He wants to make it better.

“I can’t even dress right- I should have done something- we should have got her to the surgery sooner and-“

Simon tightens his hold, draws him close against his chest. It doesn’t feel stiff and awkward like with his mum or the single, half-hearted arm round his shoulders his dad gave him when he finally came home. The affection Kieren gives him (freely and without question) is almost addictive. It feels strange to be the one initiating it for once.

Kieren crumples against his chest.

“She’s gone again. She’s gone proper this time and I just-“

And then he sobs and clings, fingers digging into Simon’s back but still remembering to avoid the scars and stitches. His chest aches. He feels guilty.

“There was nothing you could have done. We didn’t even know until Phillip came in and-”

“What, I couldn’t have done something other than just standing there like- like a twat?”

“She-she died holding your hand. She’d have wanted that. She was your best friend and- it’s what she’d have liked.”

Kieren just shudders a bit. He’s getting Simon’s shirt all wet with tears. The sensation of it sticking to his skin is uncomfortable, but he doesn’t move. Just pulls him closer and shuffles over to the bed until they’re sat down.

“You really think?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Ideally, he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to cling tighter and close the curtains and stay in, maybe sleep some more whilst the house is quiet. He wants to forget about everything, just for a bit.

It’s getting late, though.

“I think you should wear the pink one. Amy liked pink. Remember that cardi she had?”

Kieren nods miserably. He remembers her telling him she’d matched it to the color of her underskirt and laughing at him when he just nodded cluelessly.

“It’s – it just looked similar to that. The colour. So that one.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He heaves himself up, kisses the corner of Simon’s mouth.

Simon shivers.

“You should wear the stupid hat, too. The one she got you from the seaside.”

Kieren picks it up. It has a tiny tuft of feather sticking out of the side. Coupled with the shirt and the flowers in his jacket, he’d probably be suitably _morgeous_ enough for her.

Simon watches him get ready the rest of the way. His hands are still trembling, but he isn’t pacing about and his voice doesn’t shake, not at much.

The last thing he does is fold the most recent sketch he’d done of Amy and slide it in his coat pocket. Simon can’t take his eyes off him, even more than usual.

“Right. I look like a prat, but. I think I’m ready.”

Simon feels a bit plain by comparison. He didn’t really have any pastel shirts, and attempts to fit into Kieren’s had failed spectacularly. The niggling feeling of looking all wrong and not doing the right thing hangs over him.

Still, when Kieren holds his hand out, he takes it automatically.

They head out together.

 


End file.
